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As McCowboy neared the White Queen, he had the uncontrollable urge to reveal all of his secrets. He was never much of a private person to begin with - but this was one story he never got to share with anyone yet!

And, for some reason, it came out in song.

"THIS WAS JUST THE WAY I PLANNED, JUST MY INTENTION
I GOT SO BRAVE, ALTERNATE UNIVERSE, SCREW MY DISCRETION
IT'S NOT WHAT I'M USED TO, JUST WANTED TO TRY ME ON
I'M CURIOUS ABOUT ME, CAUGHT MY ATTENTION."

"I ******** MYSELF AND I LIKED IT
THE TASTE OF MY [CENSORED]
I ******** MYSELF JUST TO TRY IT
I CERTAINLY DIDN'T MIND IT
IT FELT SO WRONG
IT FELT SO RIGHT
I'M IN LOVE WITH MYSELF TONIGHT
I ******** MYSELF AND I LIKED IT

I LIKED IT."

Falling in love was not, in his experience, anything like falling at all. He was afraid of falling- as afraid as anyone was, when they took the step and fell. Love had more control, more finesse. Or maybe he just wasn’t enough in love.

To him, love was a rainstorm. You watched the clouds roll in, felt the temperature drop and the chill move in. It settled in your bones as it swept across the sky, greeting you like an old friend. He didn’t have any old friends, mind you, but he imagined that’s what it was like. The anticipation, the fur on your arms standing on end… all the signs that built up towards the inevitable.

You could get ready for it. Get out of it. There were always ways out, shelter you could take somewhere. There was a friend’s knowing smile, a mother’s warm embrace. Some form of umbrella or another you could take to get yourself out of the storm.

For a very small bear such as himself, storms were not hard to get out of at all.

If wonderland had been the summer, it was a sweltering one. The kind that ate at you, wore you down until all you wanted to do was sleep. There were times he could’ve sworn he felt his fur sticking to his body, clumping together from the running and fighting and exhaustion. Even his squeaker didn’t seem as strong as it had been, at the start. The heat was eating at him, baking him.

And then came the rain.

His hair was like wildfire and his eyes were like the sea. Alex was a mess of contradictions, and all of them like nothing he had ever seen. Ulka wondered, were they all like this? Wild and strange and enchanting? He had not met the students of Amity, but he had dreamt. Yearned. Wanted like he had never wanted before.

And Alex was the summer breeze.

It hadn’t been anything more, at first. An odd twist in his chest at every smile, or fighting back laughter at every odd joke. It was friendship, it had to be. Ulka had not had friends before, after all. It was like eating all the sweets you could ever desire, and never feeling sick.

He loved it.

But even with meeting Frost Paw, and M00n, and even Ouroboros-Tea… something was different. Unique. He loved them all, he did, but it was not the same twist in his gut. He thought, maybe, Frostpaw understood. He had been such a good friend, but asking…

Asking was just a painful thought.

Besides, holding hands probably meant nothing to Frost Paw. His hands were normal, ordinary. Not freakish and huge. Too cute to be scary, too scary to be held. He was a dichotomy of feelings, a mix of all the things that didn’t work. So many times- too many times- he had looked at himself, hated himself for the body he had chosen. And maybe, just maybe, that was what had been different.

Alex had never looked at him with scorn.

In dungeons, and in passing, he had simply taken his hand. Held it, cherished it, like it was something special. Like he was something special. His stomach had done knots, fluttered every which way.

It was the start of the rain.

Just light, at first. Little flecks of water against his fur as they went on with their journey. If Ulka hadn’t been paying attention, he might not have noticed it. But the sweltering heat died down, and he found himself… happier. Calmer. As if he’d been waiting all his life for such a storm to move in.

Alex probably didn’t even realize it- what just a simple hand hold did for him. To not mind the claws, to not laugh at the worn and weary colors. It had never happened to Ulka before. And sure, the breathless chase of the game had taken away his time to ask questions, and to think…

But it did not mean he had not noticed.

The rain really fell on that night. The one where they had beaten the raid, had conquered it all, the whole of them. Ulka had been certain they would all die in this horrible game, never see each other again, but no. They had stuck it through- and Alex had been beside him, the whole time.

It was very strange, stepping out of the sun. People said you saw things better, when it was sunny and bright. Ulka disagreed. The clouds tempered the sun, hid away the glare, and it was as if he understood everything. What a wretched thing, the sun. Not letting him see everything, be seen as he was.

If he could not have Amity, Alex was a close second.

Ulka was not entirely sure of what his feelings met. Perhaps they were love, perhaps they weren’t. He was not in possession of much stuffing between the ears, and he was fully aware of it. But his little heart pattered at the sight of his friend, and in this crazy world, that was just enough.

No, falling in love wasn’t falling at all. It was the rain, refreshing and welcome from all he had been through. And as it poured down, while he sobbed in the tavern after opening the door, Ulka could not help but think

maybe it would be better if we had not met at all.

Maybe, at least, he could have spared Alex the pain of all he had done.

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there was a little girl who could see demons. Her mother and father were very scarred, and took her to a man who claimed he could heal her, and protect her from her visions. But try as she might the little girl saw them everyday.

And everyday, she believed her mother and father and the man when they told her that she would get better.

She never would get better.

He felt like he was crawling. His body felt stiff, and the freedom of movement was dripping, dripping, dripping away, leaving him without energy and without the very movement he needed.

It was distressing.

His heart felt like it was heavy, his eyes felt like they were hard to keep open, his legs felt like they didn't want to lift or move or go anywhere, and the White Queen seemed like she was just so far away. He knew he needed to attack her, he knew that was his goal. He needed to get to her, but it seemed so hard to focus on it. He could never focus.

He couldn't make his mind do what he wanted it to do. No matter how much the professors demanded their attention, Ignatius just felt it slipping away. It focused on the wall, the ceiling, the outdoors, the pencil, the pen, his identity, his mind, the plates, the clocks, the ticking, the tapping, the bags and the messengers who brought them and--

Blightning fell to his knees, mind spinning.

"Do you want to go to school?" his father had asked him. And he had felt like it was a test, there was no correct answer as was always the case when his father asked him anything. No matter what he said he would still be a failure when all was said and done. He'd learned to dread decisions and to dread questions, conditioned time and time again with negative feedback. He flinched at question marks and hid from queries.

He rehearsed the responses in his head. If he said yes, he would get the tuition he sorely needed and socialisation that he craved. But in doing so he would reveal his weakness to his father. It would be admitting he was not up to par or his impossible standards. His longing for social interactions were deemed a weakness and even his mother found it strange that he spoke sometimes of friends and of peers. But he wanted to learn, he wanted to get out of this lonely sprawling house and live. The world outside was colourful and wonderful, glimpsed only in the exotic scents his mother trailed in when she visited or visualised in the dusty wrinkled pages of some old tome. He was pent up and old enough and he wanted out.

If he said no, his father would be happy with the statement, as happy as he got at least. He would assume it meant that Zar was the son he had intended him to be and the creature he needed. At least until Zar managed to fail every expectation all over again. He assumed that the other demon knew that he was inadequate, why else would he ask this question in the first place? He knew he just wanted to hear him cough up the admission. It would make severing him easier. He was a bad son and he knew it. But he wanted to live.

He hung his head and looked at the floorboards before being immediately scolded for even doing that much. He wanted him to look at him when he spoke. He wanted to see the deference in his eyes.

"Yes." he said and his hearts hammered in his chest, waiting for the reaction.

And of course he smiled, parting his mandibles and clicking, a sound almost a tut but with more rattle, more insect. "As I thought. We will see how you fare there since rather clearly business is much too difficult for you at present."

He felt his eyes go glassy as he remembered not to look away. He should have been happy that he would get to meet other people, should have been happy that he could strive to make them both proud.

Instead he just felt ashamed and deeply inadequate.

Zar hated choices. Neither outcome was ever favourable.



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My character's username: Defile
My character's level: 26
Character's HP: 30
Small IC description of character: Demonic, with enormous wings, grey skin and large black swooping horns. A set of hooves and a timid and apologetic demeanour.
Character journal: [x]

The memory was faint and almost foggy. A pair of hands, a soft voice next to your ear.

"The rabbit goes around the post, and through the hole..."

Your hands are so much smaller, but you hold the laces just like her, and you go through the motions just like she did, and as the bow appears for the first time and your face lights up in a bright, proud grin, there is an answering smile already directed down at you when you turn and look up.

Solia saw a guy. A guy with colorful hair. She liked his face. It was a good face.

"Je vous connais gars?"

"Ou êtes-vous pas mon mec, mon pote?"

Heavy. Heavy. We feel heavy.

And she did. Her movements were sluggish, thoughts slow as molasses as she followed the sound of battle until she found the mass of bodies and the great white figure of the queen. Different, distorted. And the closer she got the less focused she felt. Everything was a scattered mess already, she had barely made it this far, but now what little remained seemed to be falling away in bits and pieces.

What was she doing here? And for that matter, where was here? She couldn't remember. She knew her name, Nergui. She knew her name, Heterchromaggia. She knew she was not alone here, because she had somehow found Soren, and they had...they had...

Not enough. Gone. He is gone. We are here.

The mare blinked, an almost pained expression crossing dark features as she struggled to remember, and it wasn't until she had lifted her hand to press the tips of her fingers against her brow that she saw the ring on her finger and remembered the marriage and the kiss. That only really served to confuse the hatter further. She remembered him leaving, she remembered pain, she remembered despair like an old blanket wrapped around her shoulders, heavy and familiar.

But the details were slipping away. What had already started was now increasing in speed.

And she felt so heavy.